brotherhood
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: Puck tries to assure Kurt that he's totally cool with the gay thing by taking him on as a brother and giving him a few tips. Concerning Kurt's weird collage of Blaine and the word courage in his locker. Puck/Kurt bonding, Kurt/Blaine.
1. rachel berry behavior

It's a probable concept that everyone has some sort of decoration in their lockers. Among the small smattering of graffiti that's bound to be there and gum that couldn't be scraped off and would forever leave a grey smear on the metal, a lot of students at McKinley had little photographs in there, or, at the very most, a modest collage. It was even rumored that Rachel Berry had gone so far as to have a calendar of herself and Finn as cats, grinning manically out at passing students through the tiny slits in the locker, but Kurt considered that to be far too painful to speak about, let alone think.

However, here he was: stranded at his locker, trying to take out his books discretely while Noah Puckerman held the door open with the aide of his freakishly large biceps and commented on his décor as, "Yo, that's some Rachel shit going on in there. You need to tell me something?"

"I never knew you were such a gentleman, Puck," Kurt said acerbically as he attempted to wrestle out a copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest, _"Forgive me for never noticing, as you always seemed to be preparing to throw me into a dumpster."

Puck waved away the biting remark. "What fucking ever, I apologized for that, like, centuries ago." Let it be known that Puck's version of a heartfelt apology was muttering incoherently on the floor, slapping the victim roughly in the arm, and then saying something like _we good now, douchefuck? _In the case of Kurt, Puck had opted 'douchefuck' for 'Captain Homo' and stuck him in the headlock. It was highly likely that Kurt was traumatized for life. But whatever.

"So, like, since Finn's now your step-brother and Finn's my main man, my homes, my broski-with-a-brew ski, this sort of makes you like my brother." Puck said, kicking the play to the side. He paused. "I mean, like my shiksa brother because you're not Jewish. You're all goy and shit."

"Excuse me?" Kurt snapped, because honestly, he thought they'd moved on from the gay panic crises and other cumbersome things.

But Puck rolled his eyes, "_Goy_, you fucking special. A non-Jew." and peered into the colorful abyss that was Kurt Hummel's locker. There were several pictures of the shorter boy and Mercedes, looking almost indecently happy, as well as photos of the glee club at Regionals and at holiday events. It was like a creepy shrine to Kurt's friends, and aw, bless his heart, Puck could almost feel himself warming up to his brother-from-another-mother, even though he was "all goy and shit".

Except like that obviously school-picture-print out of some kid that he'd never seen before (he would've recognized him 'cause _dude_, that kid's mouth was bigger than Sam's) was kind of making him feel less "Aw, Kurt, you love us so much" and more "Aw, Kurt, you're a fucking stalker and a weirdo". And then he remembered that since Kurt was gay and didn't have a picture like that of himself or Artie or Mike- all blown up and framed- it was probably his boyfriend or something. Or someone that he wished was his boyfriend. Puck kind of hoped it was the first one, because he didn't want some pining loser to be his brother or anything.

No sibling of Puckerman's would be some weirdo who couldn't get into his love object's pants. He had a reputation to uphold. "Listen, Kurt," Puck said, nudging the boy's side just a little with his foot and ignoring the squeaks he was getting by leaving sneaker prints all over his Versace sweater vest ensemble, "you even wanna get down to business, you just tell your little butt-buddy up there that you are the best goddamn thing out there and so is he, and that whole 'opposites attract' theory is bullshit and you should continue to prove it wrong by getting naked. _Schlong or So Long_. Best way to get to it."

Kurt looked like he was going to pass out. "Were you dropped on the head as a child? That's disgusting!"

"Oh, you say that now, young grasshopper," said Puckerman, "but you will learn. Just one of the many skills you'll learn, now that we have blood-ties and shit."

Oh. This was Noah Puckerman trying to be affectionate. A milestone! He wished he had a camera.

"But like seriously, you need to get rid of that shrine you got going on for your fellow queer sexual. That's some Helga Pataki shit right there."


	2. show me your sex face

So maybe Kurt was traumatized by their last conversation or whatever, if his recent scrambling through the hallways of McKinley whenever Puck came into his line of sight was of any indication. And maybe Mr. Schue had forced him to sit down after Glee and talk about 'the correct way to communicate' and 'expressing yourself in appropriate methods', but then he got this crazy look in his eyes that meant Puck was going to understand fuck-all in T-minus twenty seconds, so he'd skipped out on the lecture and saved himself the inevitable mental scarring from the assumptions of the faculty.

But this didn't mean that Puckerman was in the position to abandon Kurt. Sure, he'd had a dandy time telling Kurt that he was a limp-wrested queen and generally abusing him, but being family and shit, he had to support him through thick and thin. This entailed protecting him from the slightly more insane members of the football team, offering him spare clothes when he got slushied, and, of course, aiding and abetting him in Kurt's (formerly unknown to everyone, including himself) quest to Getting Mad Bitches.

"Excuse me?" Kurt squeaked, from where he was cornered in the choir room, "I don't, um, know what you mean. I don't actually want to- uh, 'get mad game with the biddies', as you so eloquently put it, Noah, although I do appreciate you looking out for my wellbeing…"

Puck ignored his soul-sibling's squealing. "I made a chart, Hummel, so sit your ass down. I realize that, you know, you being a total nancy and all, that my strategy for getting yourself knee-deep in pussy isn't going to work out for you. So, with the help of these pie charts I've so lovingly made, we should be able to figure out your plan to guarantee you to be stuck in the jungle of dicks and pubes, what fucking ever you're into." He gestured to the three pies from the local bakery resting on the piano and allowed a moment for Hummel to fall the fuck over himself in gratitude.

Kurt appeared to be either trying to claw his eyes out or crying, Noah couldn't be sure.

"Those aren't really charts, Noah, those are baked goods," Kurt the Ungrateful Bitch (wait, was that abusive? It couldn't be, he'd called his little sister stuff like Brat and What The Fuck Are You Doing In My Room before, and she seemed okay, so he was probably safe) said. "Anyways, I'm supposed to meet up with Blaine for dinner in about an hour, and I need to get home so I can-"

"You don't want Blaine." Puck cut in smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that Kurt looked uncertain for a few seconds. "I don't?"

Noah Puckerman lifted up one of the pies, leveling it with Kurt's eyes. "This," he explained carefully, "is cherry pie. Now, this is your third-level homo. He's fashionable, but only a little bit, and is essentially a vagina with a moustache and an eventual 401(k) plan." Hummel looked like he wasn't getting pretty much any of this, even though Puck'd spent, like, a fucking _hour and a half _trying to come up with metaphors with Finn last night. Feverishly backtracking to the last movie he'd seen with Santana before she'd blocked him from her panties and kicked him out of her life, he amended, "Uh, like, the Gretchen Weiners of gay-bots, okay?"

Kurt nodded and was starting to look a little less like he had no idea what was happening. Puck took it as a sign and seized the apple pie that lay quietly steaming beside him. "This is apple pie, otherwise known as Karen Smith. Not too shabby, but not where the party's at. This the homo-equivalent of 'the other woman'. Acceptable for blowjobs and a little face-time, but not your numero-uno. You dig?"

"I dig," Kurt said faintly, "But, Noah, please-"

Puckerman, already delirious with his ability to reach his 'little brother' and guide him, was not going to be deterred from his path. "_Motherfucking cherry pie, Hummel_. The god of all pies, and the master of your cock until you die, or it stops working, which ever comes first. This, Kurt, is what you're looking for. Not Blaine. Not Finn- which, by the way, I hope you dropped that stalker shit you had going for him, because dude is your brother now and I am not supportive of you tappin' that ass while your parents are still married to each other. You are looking for the motherfucking cherry pie of gay men."

There was a deafening pause, in which Puck congratulated himself on being a grade-A big brother/mentor and Kurt tried to make himself fall through the floor by the sheer force of his embarrassment.

"Noah," Kurt wheezed, "while I quite appreciate this, um, talk, I don't think I'll need it. I don't think I could juggle three guys at the same time, and anyways, that's sort- well. Amoral?"

Puck looked offended. "There are no morals. Who said anything about _morals_? The point of this is to conquer as many cocks as you possibly can. Basically, you'll be the Puckzilla of homos. Like, Queerzilla or something. Cockasaurus Rex."

_Cockasaurus Rex. _Kurt wanted to scour his brain with Lysol.

"So!" Puck said brightly, "You should probably put out if Blaine's taking you out for dinner, so come on. Show me."

Kurt wondered if it was possible to suffocate Noah Puckerman and his good intentions without anyone else finding out. "Show you want?"

"Show me your sex face. Don't you gay guys, like, have a code for when you're on a date and you'd rather skip dessert and have some dick instead? Like, a secret handshake or something? Like, a few rounds of Miss Mary Mack followed by pulling taking off your pants?"


End file.
